


Two Bastards and a Dog

by FancyLadySnackCakes



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Consent, Eventual Romance, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Insecurity, Multiple Orgasms, Penis Size, Size Difference, Size Kink, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, sex with injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-08
Updated: 2019-12-08
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:27:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21719896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FancyLadySnackCakes/pseuds/FancyLadySnackCakes
Summary: Summary: The little elf finds herself at the mercy of a kind-hearted and gruff Orsimer. Over the course of several days, she realizes it's not just her with wounds.A/N: An old kink meme fill. Posted here (mildly edited) for posterity's sake. Enjoy!
Relationships: Female Dovahkiin | Dragonborn/Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 35
Kudos: 188
Collections: Size Kink Fics, Wasn't Quite Expecting This (But I Loved It)





	Two Bastards and a Dog

The blood on her brow was still wet when her savior had lain her down on a pile of fetid furs. It wasn't hers – the blood, at least she didn't think it was. It was probably her savior's, but this time she didn't think it came from her enemies. Nothing really hurt, everything just felt like a ball of fluffy cotton. She couldn't recall landing a proper blow though. How and why things had gone as sour as they did she couldn't say either, but death had once again escaped her and the one she had to be thankful for was by her side.

Her vision lay obscured through tears, not that she was sad or in any great state of pain… but more from shame. She'd taken down dragons and trolls with less personal experience, but this time it was nothing but a group of racist soldiers that managed the drop on her this time. Yes, this time it was the embarrassment that brought the tears to her eyes.

"You in your right mind, little elf?" The voice above was like the drag of a saw blade on an unruly stump; not mean, but curt and guttural. Her savior was not Bosmer, that much she could tell.

Stickiness trapped her throat in a soundless bubble, but she nodded with little effort as she blinked away the blur. Gradually her savior came into focus, first with a bulk that took up near her whole vision… and then, just as slowly she found him. Studious, golden eyes were trained on her with a grimace wrapped around chipped tusks. He was an Orsimer – a large one, even larger than the largest she'd seen in her travels. Towering over her, she knew an elf of her own small, lithe size would have felt trapped, but there was nothing but gratitude that accompanied her personal shame. Despite his tight, almost furious stare, she smiled and right then she knew he was something more than her eyes could see. He had saved her after all. A savior would not rescue only to harm…

A forgotten thrown rock to her head left her slipping in and out of sleep for hours, days… she couldn't rightly say, but the taste of bitter potions filled her mouth when she finally managed to lift herself up on the back of one shaky elbow. Time had gone by, of that she was certain… and her place of rest had changed. The smell of running water, spiced meat, flowers, and sappy trees lifted towards her.

A breeze and the comforting churn of a waterfall helped clear her mind of fog.

Her other arm was stiff and wouldn't bend when she attempted to fall back upon the furs with an air of control, instead she toppled like a fallen tower on her back. When she spared the offending limb a glance it was wrapped tight in ragged cloth; braced with hard rods of wood twined tightly together. Darkness surrounded her, but the soft blue hue of the night sky coated enough for her to take in her surroundings, and enough yellow light from a bustling fire down a hard slope flickered light over her savior.

Her nameless Orsimer was slumped opposite her against a high jut of rock, sitting but asleep. She'd been right before that he was a large one. The flames licked yellow and orange over his features, and the expanse of soft hair covering the muscles that made up his stony chest as well as the bow and arrow gripped tight at the ready. The strain in his fists said he could have been awake for all she knew… but when she shuffled up to sit, the furs slipping down her half-naked body, he didn't stir at the delicate sound.

It wasn't normally safe to leave yourself vulnerable in Skyrim, especially not with a fire luring in curious passersby and hunters. Despite the sight of the open sky and open atmosphere, something about it felt contained and secluded. The night shrouded most, but the distinct shape of high rocky walls bordered the starry night sky.

An announcement of her awakening bubbled in her throat, but it was sucked down at the sight of a toothy mongrel patting up the slope, it's tail swishing behind it almost gallantly. A hunting dog, it was.

She smiled despite the way her jaw ached up to her ear as the shaggy dog toed it's way to her side, sniffing at her bandaged arm for a long moment before planting it's rear within arms reach. It's tail rhythmically brushed against her naked thigh as she dared to give it a short caress against the neck. It panted, eyed her with a brow raised before looking to its master. Suddenly her Orsimer being asleep seemed less dangerous now.

"Little elf?"

She looked over too quickly, wincing at the crick in her neck as he rose just as hurriedly. He seemed almost clumsy as he rose on those bulky thighs, resting the from his lap bow and arrow where he'd sat on his way to her side. The glint of a dagger off the firelight caught her eye as he squatted beside her. Behind him, she saw a worn, but well kept great sword lying on a pile of cotton and leather. An image of that sword slicing through meat and bone, a leg maybe, came to mind – it may have been a recent memory or a fervid thought, but either way, she grew a sheen of gooseflesh over her skin at the picture she painted.

His half nakedness, coupled with her own unnerved her as he stared painfully deep into her face before lifting up her damaged arm for a better look. To her credit, she did not flinch. She thought of telling him she was fine, that there was really no need or desire to be taken care of like this, but regardless of his inappropriate attire and closeness, she couldn't say she didn't enjoy the attention. When was the last time she'd been treated with such a skilled, yet gentle hand, and how did an Orsimer have such talent in the healing arts without being a mage.

She watched while mute and hot in the cheeks as he pulled the wooden reeds from her arm and bent her elbow in a manner of different ways until a muscle in her forearm bit and she growled low. The sound he made at her reaction must have been some sort of chuckle, but she couldn't have been certain.

"You been awake for long, have you?" he asked with that grindstone-on-steel rasp.

Finally, she cleared her throat to speak, "Not long," but it sounded so shaken and weak she took a swallow and tried again, "I… felt hot. The heat woke me from the fire" He turned to look at the fire as she took on a sour look, she sounded delirious while she obviously was not, and her excuse was foolish when the fire was a good ways away from her. She was not heated by the fire, so why did she think to say it? He turned back and a large, mottled-green hand pressed against her forehead – the whole of his palm covered the sweaty swath of skin like she was but a small child. His unexpected, strong contact sucked out her breath like a kick to the belly, but in a way, it was less unpleasant than she'd thought.

"You had an arrow in your leg. Poisoned maybe… I can make a tonic for that if you grow feverish."

She wasn't sure what to say but 'thank you', so she did as honestly as she could while her voice cracked under his intense stare. He looked as though he hadn't heard her though, still staring with a nearly harsh light. She opened her mouth to repeat herself but his hand grasped the furs around her hips, tugging them down with little warning. Her own exposure didn't bother her as much as the situation did. To an onlooker, this would have looked… too personal. But she couldn't bite out a retort when he started to finger the bindings on her thigh, noting the spot where blood had seeped and dried a grim brown color. This wasn't a situation to grow angry, not when he was merely trying to help her, especially when she couldn't remember taking an arrow to the leg.

"It went through clean," he muttered and she felt his breath waft down briefly on her thigh, "Stuffed the exit hole with juniper bark, front with blue flower paste. It will heal well."

Dumbly she nodded as he lifted her leg at the knee. Callouses on the skin of his palms rubbed at the sweaty, sensitive skin behind the bend of her leg. She watched him in the soft, flickering firelight as he unbound her thigh with a subtle flick of his wrist. Blood had dried and flaked around the wound, but he'd been right – it was a through and through shot. A crusty substance broke apart and slid between her legs when he touched it. He muttered something about that being 'a good thing' before his thumb poked at the exit hole and she gasped. Her hip jerked to take her leg from his grasp but he held on like a bear trap, all the while shoving the nubby bark further inside without a single trace of pity on his face.

The pain brought a sheen of sweat to her legs and brow, enough that his finger grew slick against her skin while he let her blood ooze out in a hot trickle around his thumb. She'd never been a victim of the old healing ways. It was brutally sweet.

She fell back on the furs, holding in her moan with both hands tight over her mouth. His hands were gone as soon as she arched her back, but a soft ripping sound said he wasn't done. Strips of cloth were tightened around the wound, and again she whimpered like a babe as he secured it with a tuck.

"I have wine for the pain," was all he said as she lay there in her smalls, sweat drying on her skin and his half-naked self looking down at her. There was almost an intimacy to it all, so when she agreed to the wine with a nod she could hardly bother to question anything about this anymore. What was a drink at this rate?

The wine was heated and delicious on her pallet, as was the venison he slapped on a plate for her. The comfort he managed to offer led her to look deeper into the darkness where only the softest of moonlight touched. It seemed a grotto or even an open cave and it told her she was enclosed enough to be safe from prying eyes or the stray vicious animal. A simple bit of bread and honey was set down beside her before she watched him toss a roasted leg at mongrel. It started its feast with excitement.

"The honey will help with the fever, little elf. Go on." His voice was like a growl even when it was meant to be soft. She'd never heard one like it. The Nords had their sweet accents, and the Mers she'd come across had their lyrical voices… but this Orsimer had none of that and she still wished he'd speak more.

She looked over at him chewing at a tougher piece of meat, his expression said to do as she was bid. The honey was sickly sweet, and the bread was too spongy for the typical mountain bread she'd had to eat – but it was delicious and she showed her gratitude with a smile as he watched her swallow, bite after bite.

When the last bite was down her throat, she took another sip of the now luke-warm wine. The soft ache in her head had dulled and the pain that had once been acute in her thigh was dimmed to a gentle throb. She gave a deep breath and looked over to her Orsimer as he finished stripping a hock of meat from a rib bone; teeth sharp and dangerous-looking in the yellow flames.

"Why?" she asked, and just as suddenly she regretted saying it at all.

He paused, staring at her with a frown. In her chest, she felt her heart start to pound in a tempo fast and uneven. She was struck between voicing her question further and retracting it completely, but she wanted to know why he would help her like he was… and why he asked nothing in return.

"You think me a beast that would let a female receive such treatment?" he rumbled as if only slightly insulted, which made her feel even worse. It was as though he had, in some small form, expected her to finally question him about this.

"That..." she started, feeling small, "that wasn't what I meant… I meant no offense."

A rough sound eased the hairs along her arms to stand on end; his snort of dismissal. She closed her mouth as he took a heavy draw of wine from the bottle, feeling as though she'd disturb him if she spoke. Dimly she wondered if he was intoxicated, and drink affected him in less amiable ways than it did her, but he appeared unclouded to her eye.

"Do not explain yourself," was all he said before standing just as clumsily as he had before. She watched him from her pallet, raised on one elbow to right herself, as he threw a chunk of chopped wood on the fire. He watched the flames rise and loose fibers crackle in the air. The shaggy dog paced at his side with a swinging tail until he squatted to give the mutt a long pet like that of a close companion. The affection she watched her Orsimer give to that dog made her roll upon her side to watch against the light of the fire. To see such a large, bestial man like him stoop to touch the head of a dog was curious… and again, comforting.

Crickets buzzed in the night like a strumming bard in a tavern and she smiled despite herself. Somewhere in the distance, she saw the flitting trail of torch bugs.

The wine was pulling her into a slumber and she was weak to it's lure. Her eyes were dropping just as he stepped from the fire. He stopped beside her, towering so tall that she rolled with a sigh of mild pain upon her back to stare up at him with half clouded eyes.

He said nothing.

"What's your name?" she managed with sleep laced in her words.

"Does it matter?" was his reply, as his eyes raked down her like a man would at something he'd never seen in his whole life, and may never see again. That look left her to lie back deeper into the pelts with a heavy breath. The stare did not scare her as it should have.

She wondered only briefly if she ought to tell him her own name, but as her eyes closed and she drifted, she realized she liked his makeshift name for her much better than her true one. Sometimes, she figured, names had no use when it was just two people and a dog in the woods while the crickets made their music.

For another day she was of little use. Her leg had not swollen as she'd expected but hobbling on one leg got her nowhere, expect back on the pallet with an annoyed Orsimer at her heels. She had been left with the dog and a dagger. The daylight and her short walk from her furs had allowed her sight of a trickling waterfall. All she could think of was washing off the sweat and whatever goop he'd put on her thigh. It smelt putrid and the smell combined with her sweat only made for a nauseous combination.

When he returned she noted there were several fish hung from a pole over his shoulder and a heavy satchel strung over the other. The shaggy dog made a keening noise at it’s master’s arrival but did not bark. Her Orsimer gave it a gentle shove with his foot before lying the pole of fish over the cooking spit, their scales glimmering a vibrant pink in the dimming sunlight. She had woken earlier in the day to him salting the rest of the venison he must have caught before saving her – it was hanging from some winter trees where the smell of salted and spiced meat grew thick and oddly sweet.

He gave her a nod and pulled the dagger from the furs at her thighs as if lifting his hand up against her bare skin was nothing sordid. She still flinched at the touch regardless of whether she wanted to or not. He didn't seem to care one way or the other; turning away from her to gut the fish.

She watched placidly as the mongrel ate the guts with relish before taking a nap while its master started the stacking twigs and dry brush for the fire.

"I'm going to wash," she declared lightly as if the lower her voice the less chance he'd hear and demand she stay put.

After a moment of silence, she started to rise.

"No." It was a firm response that left nothing to argue over, but she wasn't someone a man, Orsimer or not, said no to.

His back faced her, sitting on a thick chopping block while the sound of steel on scales began grating in the air.

With the furs secured around her bareness, she rose with a stumble and hobbled her way to the spit. Her Orsimer growled when he noticed her. "On the pallet," he ordered, but she took a seat on the large oak log beside him with a defiant expression. If she was to be confined to the state she was in then she didn't want to wallow in her own filth while so useless.

"Even a woman with a bum leg can wade in the water without drowning," she said with a slight smile. He seemed only half ready to pick her up and put her back on the furs, but she admired his catch of fish and that seemed all it took to quell the beast inside him.

"Very well," he groused sourly.

He rose to help her and momentarily she balked at the idea. A large hand, rough-looking and an off-hue of clammy green were splayed before her. Hesitantly she took his hand and suddenly his other was at her back, lifting her like she was made of a thousand tiny pieces.  
She was keenly aware, as he helped her to the rippling water, that she was thankful for he'd taken it upon himself to guide her to the water. This was she didn't have to ask him halfway there for assistance. Her humility would have been thick enough to see if that had happened.

"Dog," he beckoned and the mutt galloped to them as he helped her into the first foot of cool water. The mongrel stopped at the water, tongue out a panting with an air of happiness she was oddly envious of.

"Don't worry about me." And then he was gone, leaving her to tremble on her two feet with the dog watching her with bright, suddenly dutiful eyes.

Without ease she undressed, glancing back at him near the fire with his back to her and his mutt. Every time she looked back she expected to see his eyes on her, almost longed for it in some strange way, but his back never turned.

He speared each fish on a pole straight through to roast them over the flames while she waded in the cold water, scrubbing at her body with hurried motions. She wanted in and out as quickly as possible.

The oddly quiet and domestic activity of him making a meal and her bathing left her nearly as agitated as a days worth of battle did. At this moment she felt free of responsibilities that had weight heavy on her while she hadn't even noticed, yet the lack of such a weight wasn't as nice. She'd gotten used to bearing the burden that this moment felt like a step back. 

After this, it would be just as difficult to ease back into her routine as it had been the first time. Out here in the forest, even practically bed-ridden, she found herself wishing it would never end; wishing that when she got better she'd play the role of a hunter, follow her Orsimer on runs, swim in the streams, chase elk, drink wine by the fire as their fruitful day cooked before their eyes. She even imagined sharing a bed with him and the dog on cold nights.

"Do you need assistance?" she heard him call out to her; his voice booming and scratchy.  
She was already wrapped wetly in the pelt she draped on the rocky edge, sitting with her feet still enjoying the refreshing water. It shamed her to say yes, but she did and to her, he came as the dog sat watching. He hand gripped her good arm at the bend, and the other wrapped around her waist. Each step sent pain up a tendon in her thigh, but she didn't show any of it as he set her down on a stump by the fire.

If any of this situation bothered him, he showed it as much as she showed her pain.

"Which one do you want, little elf?"

She was shaken from her study of him as he pulled the skin from a fish to expose the flaky meat. The smell suddenly assailed her nostrils and she moaned softly with hunger.

"Whichever one gave you the greatest struggle," she managed a grin that he returned with a more subdued smirk – the tusks making him look less jovial and more malicious then he must have intended.

They ate in silence – the shaggy dog crunching on the bones and heads of the fish with relish. Everything was savory and sweet in her mouth. If she was being honest, she hadn't eaten so well since before coming to Skyrim near a year ago. She licked the bones of any leftover meat and allowed the wine to linger in her cheeks as she finished the potatoes he's cooked between the outer rocks.

The food, the heat from the flames, the scruff of the dog and her silent Orsimer kindled a feeling of fulfillment like she'd not felt since a child – it lulled her into a sense of near drunkenness despite her wine being nearly full.

All these sensations mounted like a warm storm, eventually making her sleepy as it had the night before.

She felt an itch along her exposed skin and turned her sight to her Orsimer to find him staring at her exposed shoulders and back. It wasn't a leer, at least not in the way she was used to, but there was heat in his eyes all the same. She found herself looking at him as well, wishing he'd been as unclothed as he'd been the night before so she could admire the size of him as she'd been unable and ashamed to do before. Tonight she felt emboldened by the growing familiarity, the necessary touches past, and the wine of course.

Eventually, he noticed she had caught him staring, and his hot gaze turned away as if it'd never been there at all. She found her cheeks growing hot the longer he looked away from her. With eyes searching the camp, she could feel a stiff breeze press through the furs to her naked skin. Her smalls were lying to dry at the rocks by the water.

"Where did you put my armor?" she asked, looking around at the various personal objects lain around.

"You were not wearing armor when I found you."

She paused and turned slowly to him. A sudden sickness gripped her full stomach as he stared into the fire like it was miles away. It was plain he was avoiding her eyes by how steady he stared ahead.

"My tunic and pants?"

"Ruined," he said with disgust before filling his mouth with wine. Some of it missed, dribbling down his lips where his tongue reached to gather it up. She was enraptured and horrified. How had he found her exactly? - and what did she not remember? Hesitantly she touched the small knot under her hairline where the second stone hurled at her had hit.

She had a vague recollection of why her clothing was ruined, but she had to be sure.

Unknowns never set well with her.

"Did they get very far?" she couldn't manage asking it any more audibly than a whisper.

"They did not rape you," he stated with a blunted growl throughout the whole reassurance.

He did not sound as relieved as she suddenly felt, in fact, she saw his eyes narrow into the fire as though he could see a foe in the flames. The question of how far they got was at the tip of her tongue, but the tightening of his lips around his tusks and the hard glint in his eyes made her think better of it. She was alive, safe and untouched by the racist’s intentions. With a forced smile, she thought to change the subject.

"Have you hunted in these parts long," she asked lightly.

"Two seasons. I do not stay long in one place." He growled out each word as if the subject wasn't up for further interrogation either. A long draw from the wine bottle and a sag of his shoulders spoke of much hidden by his answer, but she knew what that was like and swallowed down her prying words.

"What is this place, anyway?" Everything was closed off from the outside by high rocky walls, much like an open cave.

"I'm sure Nords have named it, but I do not know. You are safe here. That is all that matters."

The crickets had already started by the time she mustered up the courage to say anything else, and it was a poor start for a conversation she knew, "My leg is fairing better… and my arm, well… I feel no pain in it."

He nodded with a grunt, "Your leg will be stiff for a while longer." He popped a wad of curled leaves in his mouth, between his cheek and teeth before saying anything else, "You will not be a burden here."

She stared deeply at him as he chewed at the leaves in his mouth, swilling wine down every so often against the face of the fire like he was looking for signs in their flames. There had been a soft, lonely inflection in his tone at his last words, and she realized while he scratched at the dogs floppy ears, that perhaps he had saved her not only to spare her such a fate, but also in the hopes of escaping such lonesomeness. The idea of staying with him even after she mended was a temptation, but she knew the world would come calling regardless of what she wanted. She wasn't the cure to his solidarity that he may have wished her to be.

She pulled the furs around her and muttered softly, "I thank you for all you've done so far… maybe I can return the favor… in some way," and she left her words open, standing on a shaky leg as he rose quickly to steady her with a strong grip on her shoulder. For a moment she was caught looking up at him, giving him her silent invitation as he searched for any falsehood in both look and words. In the end, he scowled and released her to hobble back to the cave, to lie down on the warm pelts and inhale what she now realized was his own sweet and sour musk.

Moments went by that she waited with a heavy thudding heart for him to pull the furs off her and do as she suddenly desired above many and nearly all things, but he didn't come, and her eyes grew heavy watching his back before the fire. Sleep itched at her eyes and she succumbed to it with meek resistance.

At dawn, she woke to a tickle on her nose. Blue velvet filled her vision and – startled – she shook her head as a butterfly fluttered off her face to a gathering a juniper bushes. The dry smell of fresh dirt and bitterness stung her nose pleasantly as she rolled upon her side to take in the morning. On a pallet by the smoking remnants of the fire, he snored long and low. The dog was awake but lying on his belly between them both. Those animal eyes, smart too, stared over at her before blinking to look off into the distance.

Quietly she clicked her tongue to teeth, beckoning the mutt to her. He rose and sniffed along the sparsely grassed ground until plopping down against her pelt covered stomach. The warmth from the mongrel was comforting and despite the slightly off-putting smell and dirty coat, it felt nice to just stroke his head as she drifted back to sleep.

A clang of metal hitting stone woke her slowly. The fire bright in the darkness, telling her she's slept the whole day. She blinked and moaned, rolling upon her back as her Orsimer shuffled about the camp area on weak knees brought on by wine. His chest was bare and the light flickered against the bulges of muscles that looked hard as steel. Fine, dark hairs  
scattered across the plains of his hard chest. He looked the color of the mighty evergreens in the evening sun and just as wide. Under the cover of feigned sleep, she watched his arms flex as he removed a thick leather belt from around his waist – the muscles bulged and the veins looked strained against his flesh with each movement. She had never seen such strength, even on the Nords. Her liaisons had involved lithe males more astute to archery and keen, quick blade work than the brute strength undressing before her.

He had started unlacing his breeches when he paused, turning towards her. She dropped her eyes closed and parted her lips before he could catch her staring, but her heart hammered quick under her breast when nothing but silence followed. Too long it rang in her ears until his footsteps finally started for her direction.

She nearly whimpered at the course of blood rushing through her veins. A dull heat crept up and down her belly, growing lower and lower until that noticeable slickness flowed. For some reason, she felt embarrassed by her body’s reaction to him. Somewhere in her head her old, long gone Ma was chastising her for what her thoughts entailed; for what her body wanted, and what she'd gladly embrace if he chose to come to her.

He crouched beside her, not bothering to be quiet. If she had truly been asleep he would have woken her by now, so she crept her eyes open, finding his face over to her left. There was an odd expression cut out of his hard brow, smoldering eyes and dangerous mouth. The sides of his lips were turned down; lips tight across his tusks while a crease formed between his eyes.

"Little elf..." his drawl was half-drunken, but endearing as if he were speaking to one of the Nine and not herself.

She didn't answer him, after all, his words were not a question. Instead of uttering a word she rolled on her side, scooted back along the furs and opened them for him. It was an invitation; a blatant one, and one he took almost greedily to her surprise. The soft heat of his bare chest colliding with her own made a smacking sound between them, and an even louder one leave her throat when his arm yanked her even closer, making the tips of her breasts ache against his bare skin. Never before had she felt so small, yet so safe in her life.

He dwarfed her, yet she felt no fear.

He inhaled against her hair, growling while the breath entered his lungs just as much as when it left, ghosting heat down her neck. His temperature was greater than any hearth in any tavern; burning her in ways that made her breath grow shaken.

"Say no and I'll leave you to sleep… but," he seemed to waver while pressing his great palm along her lower back, "I may lose myself to this if you allow it."

The evidence of his desire ran against her knee, but it didn't worry her as much as it sent a wave of needy, itchy heat down between her legs. She wouldn't have insinuated this happen if she was not sure, but she didn't play naïve to know why he would warn her. Never having been with anyone but of her own race, she knew nothing of how Orsimer took women… but the details seemed pointless to her now. A sudden passion had formed in the few days they shared, and she aimed to satiate that passion.

No male Orsimer would tear her apart while a Dragon could not, she assured herself.

"I am not rewarding you," she whispered against his throat, nudging her nose and cheek along his neck and jaw; relishing how he seemed to tremble. She felt it right to let him know this wasn't born out of pity. "I simply need this..." her hand laced down to trace the outline of his erection through the cotton breeches – the laces strained tight against the thickness. He growled lowly, curling dull nails into the small of her back while thrusting his hips against her caressing fingers in a weak manner.

"So it is cock you need then?" his crude language matched his almost violent tone as if he wanted to be angry at her desire. She frowned but kissed the base of his throat where his steady growl emitted as if it would quell his anger.

"No..." she whispered, feeling small again in his giant like grip. Again she kissed, but the grumble remained as he reached the hand at her back to cup her rear, lifting her lower body to his belly. "I… have never desired another, not like this..."

"Will you moan?" he asked suddenly, cutting off the hum of ire in his throat to lift her up so she touched noses with him briefly. A ruddy tinge must have touched her cheeks; must have been illuminated by the fire for she made out an amused lift of his mouth even at the darkness the fire cast over him. A spark of light shown in his eyes as they stared at her ruefully.

"I..." she swallowed as he grunted for her to be silent. He pressed his nose under her chin to exposed her neck for his tongue traced under her jaw – a lone tusk pushing up against her neck like a dull weapon, and it sent a thrill down her spine. He pulled at the skin along her neck; sucking, teething and lapping at the puckered skin he left behind. All the while she squirmed with quick breathes, and when she finally moaned as his hand slid along the softness of her hip to ease finger over the hood of her nub.

"Moan, like that, little elf. Moan for it..." he commanded with a streak of desperation in his growl.

All she could do was whimper as a thick, dull-nailed finger slid through the sleek folds between her thighs. The touch was brief but electric; setting her passion ablaze. She wiggled her stiff body up like a submerged person seeking air, though what her lips sought out was his as his finger hooked deep inside her. His reaction to her lips was unsure, but with his tusks, she didn't think it would have been any different. The feeling of his tongue however made up for any lack of understanding – it tasted her own and pulled her into his mouth deeply for more.

She moaned and he grunted in a melody that fit with the sounds of their lips caressing and his finger slipping inside and outside her needy flesh. It all felt very surreal.

Pleasure swelled deep in her gut as the pad of his thick thumb curled down the soft hair of her mound to the swollen nub north of his thrusting finger. She curled her head against his, muffling her short, high moan as best she could. Stiff pain flooded her thigh as she ground against his exquisite touch, uncaring if she opened the carefully cared for wound or not.

"Careful..." his warning rolled like distant thunder against her cheek. He paused between her thighs and she whimpered at the loss; her fingers mapping the planes of his chest and shoulders with soft, weak squeezes. She could feel her own wetness on his fingers as he plucked up her bandaged thigh behind her knee, lifting it with such gentility upon his hip that she couldn't stop the wide smile from stretching her lips. "I won't have the strength to heal after this," was all he said before working a thick finger directly over her nub, slipping it between his thumb with firm pressure.

She breathed deeply along his neck, placing lingering kisses up and down whatever bit of him she could reach. No one had touched her in that spot before, it had always been her own fingers that stoked like that.

"Women haven't wanted me in ages," he rumbled while she curled her body to kiss at the line of hair starting under his collar bone, "I will not last long..." he admitted with a snarl as his finger slipped deep inside her again.

She couldn't fathom why any woman wouldn't desire him. Perhaps he was slow for conversation, but she hadn't ever been a woman of many words either… and what he lacked in talk he made up for in skill. No one had touched her so gently or so… expertly, even before now when she'd been waking and falling into sleep his hands had been careful to set her wounds and tend to the cuts. Now, as those fingers wound in her hair and slid inside her and against her, she felt an even greater surge of sensation. Emotional and physical pleasure had never surmounted so heavily before.

He stroked deep inside and that far away sensation of climax grew close; tauntingly close.  
"Yess..." she whispered, stroking up to thread her fingers through the crop of his hair, grasping tight as he smothered her with tusk filled kisses up and down her neck; his rhythm between her thighs going no faster, but stronger as she grew tearfully close.

The peak came so gradually that she arched against him, tipping her head back as an embarrassing moan peeled from her lips. His growl and pressed teeth at the front of her throat coaxed her to the edge where the pleasure swam like a rapid current up and down her belly. The darkness took on a soft purple hue as bright dots like far away torch bugs clouded her vision.

"I'm going to mate you," he rumbled at her ear while his fingers continued their dance, working her down from her high. She barely noticed his heat diminish and her back touch the furs, but her eyes caught sight of him hurriedly unlacing his breeches one-handed as the other braced himself beside her. Never did his eyes leave hers while she lay with breasts heaving as she caught her breath.

In the darkness his bulk created against the fire, she couldn't see what he stroked with his curled fist, groaning almost breathlessly. She rose her eyes again to his to see him staring now with that firelight flickering off his orbs. "Don't say no," he seemed to beg gruffly while he covered her back up in his cloudy heat. The tip of him was bulbous and large against her inner thigh.

She didn't say anything, just spread her thighs while he once again took her injured leg in a careful hand, pulling her close and open for the burning flesh of his cock.

With one sure thrust – tight and suffocating – he was inside her, stretching her and filling too deep for her to even speak. Just as soon as he was inside he was gone, laying the tip of his hard flesh at her slick folds before easing back inside at a sluggish pace, all the while he growled like a territorial mongrel. This time she was allowed a steady moan despite the ache of fullness. She was unprepared despite his skilled touch, and the way he stretched her small body made her whimper with each thrust.

He had been right to warn her, she realized. With each thrust he seemed to find more room to fill her with; more breath to push out of her lungs as he shook with pleasure above her. At least, she was thankful, he was slow in his pace as if relishing the sensation rather than losing himself to it.

"You don't moan," she heard him say with that raw rumble as if from a great distance. Unable to answer she just gasped and shook her head. He stopped altogether, trembling against her.

"You are not rewarding me, little elf, remember?" he rasped as if nearly out of breath, "so enjoy it." His hips ground in a half-circle, reaching a spot inside her that throbbed with both pleasure and the aching pain. It was no use trying to ignore the discomfort, despite how good it felt behind the mask.

"Too..." she quivered and took a shallow breath against his lips, "... deep. It hurts."

Before she had even finished speaking he'd removed himself from her, spreading her own wetness against her inner thigh with the soft head of his manhood. His breath wafted down her shoulder as his head bent to nudge her hair from her neck – it was a loving gesture that pressed the fading pain away all the more quickly.

"Tell me when you hurt," is all he said before taking himself in hand between them, guiding himself inside her once more. He stretched her again – the head popping inside softly before he inched further inside her heat.

She gasped as the dull discomfort started, grasping as his shoulders, "There..."

He paused even as she felt his thick arms under her hands shake with tension. With a groan he withdrew from her, gliding against her flesh in a sting that didn't bring a grimace to her lips as much as it did a small, uneasy moan. Her Orsimer stilled at the tightness of her entrance, growling at her sounds of pleasure before pressing back in. This time he knew when to stop, and slowly a rhythm was built that let her good leg curl around his while he bucked almost gently against her.

When she keened, wrapped an arm around his back to hold on, and thrust herself into him, feeling him go deeper with little pain, he seemed to snarl behind her ear. In a few steady thrusts, she could hear the wet slaps of skin below his growls and her own choked moans, yet the pain wasn't there.

"Little elf..." his tongue laved along the crown of her ear and she mewled with hips churning against his own, "Tell me it is… good." Each word he uttered was spoken with a rumble like a bear hunting prey.

She bowed her head, feeling her chin touch her sternum. In the light where the furs had fallen off him, she could see where they were joined. His flesh, as thick as her wrist, disappeared between her thighs time and time again while their skin made a beating sound despite how the sweat was growing slick between them both. It all was more erotic than anything she could have dreamed of. If she'd been in her bed in Whiterun, lying awake with just her meager hand and fantasies, she would have been too embarrassed to have thought of this scenario right here… right now. But this was perfect.

"Tell me."

A guttural moan of her own got stuck in her throat as a sharp wave of pleasure signaled the start of that climb to the top. Pleasure drove her to slap her hips to his while her belly curled to find that perfect angle she needed.

She couldn't speak, even though she wanted to praise him for making it so good; praise him for being what she needed before and now and perhaps even beg him to be what she needed afterward as well, but she couldn't. All she could do was grasp at his bare skin, run her nails down the slick flesh over his back while meeting each and every thrust like the climax she knew was coming would be the end of her every struggle. It was like following a rapid south-going stream; allowing the current to lap her where it wished, not fighting it, but following it like a dedicated participant. She needed this, wanted this and for a moment – as he growled a stream of heated, moist breath down into her sweated hair, while bucking with her own erratic hips – she felt as though she'd die if this release growing in her belly didn't culminate now.

A choked sob broke from her throat. Every muscle in her seemed to grow tight; coiled as the rush became a reality and not a heavy desire. Over the hill, she toppled. Down the stream, she was carried and out to sea, she cried into the bare, slick flesh at his chest. Her legs tried in vain to close around him – the pain in her thigh non-existent as she climaxed. 

Dimly she was aware of her Orsimer howling like a wounded beast as his flesh left her full and then empty and full again so quickly her brain, let alone her body could barely register it. Though, to be fair, she wouldn't have noticed a dragon landing outside the cave at this point.

As soon as the rush peaked inside her - licking at her bones and setting her nerves aflame – every muscle that had been tense simply let go. One of her arms slipped from around his back to the scratchy pelts under her; lifeless. Her breasts bounced against his abdomen as he continued snarling and bucking inside her.

"Look at me!" he barked in a tone both dangerous and desperate. She'd not even noticed her eyes clamped tightly shut as her insides continued dancing tightly around his relentless flesh. As if looking through a thick sheen of tears, she saw his bright eyes staring straight at her. Another heavy shiver of pleasure swam up during her lulling orgasmic descent, forcing her to gasp as his teeth bared sharp like a snarling wolf.

A strangled sound left him, and his head bowed to slip wet against her own sweaty forehead as a particularly deep thrust expelled searing heat inside her belly. He was ejaculating inside her she realized – so deep inside she would have pulled away if her body wasn't suddenly so weak and warm. Instead of fending off the sensation; one so unlike anything she'd felt before, she merely breathed deep against his weight as the feeling subsided into a sticky warmth.

His hips churned in a lazy rhythm, grunting as she gulped down air to still her hammering heart. She realized now what had just happened – that she had bedded an Orsimer… and that she had never felt so alive without having to first escape death. A weightless sensation seemed to lift her body and force it down at the same time.

"Don't run..." she heard him growl so low it was more like a distant rumble of thunder. Did he truly think she could have even if she'd wanted, and why would she even if possible? If the dragon blood didn't call to her in her sleep she might have never run away from this place. If this, what had just occurred, could happen every night if she chose to stay, then why would anyone want to leave?

"I..." she started with a shiver as he chose that moment to pull himself from her trapping heat, "... wouldn't even if I could move." The smile she tried was merely a twitch of her mouth, but he seemed to know or had not denounced her words, for she felt him fall with a thud at her side – her bound thigh still held with care in one large hand. Gently he placed her leg down, his calloused hand skimming up, across the soft hair of her mound and to her belly where it stayed like a hot stone.

When her ears stopped ringing she heard the soft howl of a wolf far far away and their pack following suit – it was calming as it'd never been before. Here she felt safe despite how more capable she was than him with the power buried in her throat. All the muscle and strength, having touched her so carefully yet with primal abandonment at times, made her feel coveted. Like a weak maiden in the hands of a fearsome warrior, she was calmed – it wasn't a feeling she would have thought she'd enjoy. But to be depended upon and be the master of her own survival, pride and outcome were tiring.

"You hurt, little elf?"

Not trusting her own voice she simply nodded, smiling fully this time as the sweat on her brow began to dry. The ache was a good one…

"You bleed..." he said, and without thinking, she reached a hand between her thighs. Before she could feel her own wet flesh his fingers a hold of her wrist that almost forced her bones to clink.

"No. Your leg," he growled, but the tone was without insult or distaste… but almost something like satisfaction. Maybe the fact that she thought he'd rutted her hard enough to bleed appealed to some part of him, though it seemed he didn't fully like the idea.

She looked at the growing stain under the tan strips of cotton; blood-soaked slowly like a pool of ruddy mud through the threads. It didn't hurt. Nothing hurt. "I don't feel the pain..." To prove that, or to be defiant – she couldn't say – she rolled on her side, flushing her naked flesh against his own with a groan of pleasure. He shivered and hummed his approval above her head despite his hand keeping her thigh elevated over his hip.

This was also new. She'd never enjoyed this close contact after coitus. It felt like something she'd cheated herself from all the other times. The heat and touch of tangled limbs – the feeling of his chest rising and falling was marvelous. "What would an Orsimer mate say now?" she blurted but in a whisper without thinking once again. Everything felt beautiful, even silly thoughts that swarmed her mind seem more than appropriate.

He was silent perhaps too long, but she barely felt the passage of time.

"I don't know," he seemed to answer regretfully, "Females don't stay after I spill my seed."  
His tone rang solemnly against her ears. He grumbled but pulled her closer, as if trying to fill every divot in his body with her, "Except you, little elf, you can't run away."

Something tight tried to swallow up the space between her lungs as he spoke; tusks running across her scalp, pulling damp hair as he nuzzled not unlike a dog. He was, however, not a dog, nor a beast or brute as she'd been warned by others… including the sly khajiit who were themselves the victim of unforgiving racism. Was this feeling sympathy? - compassion? - pity?

"You..." she wavered a second, suddenly fearing rejection, "could run with me."

His soothing, blunt tusks running along her head paused and he withdrew to look down at her with searching eyes. He seemed either confused or eager to find lies in her expression, so she cleared her throat with a small smile, "When I'm healed… I have obligations to see too… but running alone..."

"What if I imprison you?" he cut in, sounding threatening and serious despite how he nudged her chin up with his nose to kiss at her still damp neck with eager passion. She almost forgot the words in her mouth when a dull nail ran down her naked arm.

"You can't trap a dragon," she murmured, though she realized that was wrong also. 

"Come with me," she pleaded instead of wasting time talking further. She didn't feel the desire to explain or ask again… not when his thick palm was skimming down her back, drawing her so close it almost took her breath away while his rough lips pulled at the tender skin under her jaw.

"One taste and I am to follow?" He gave an almost amused growl against her pulse. She knew he could feel it throb as well as she could. "I think your a mad little elf to suggest a thing."

"Yet not mad for having bed you; bed an Orc?" she cut back with an oddly amorous air. Perhaps it had been a mistake to do this, to give in to such a sudden and unknown desire. She'd never once in her life felt so laden with need for another's company and now, maybe she felt a sort of one-sided affection for him. Perhaps this was normal… and leaving him after her recovery was as normal to everyone as it wasn't for her.

He seemed to pause at her throat, exhaling through his nose like a harsh sigh and pressing her on her back before rising above her. Again she marveled at how large he was – the thick, corded muscles in his arms bracing on either side of her, locked in place by bawdy shoulders and the hardest chest she'd ever seen. Her physical desire for him was almost shamefully large.

"Insane elf," he insulted with the barest lift of his mouth, "I'll fuck you again if you’ll allow me and then you will rest. In the morn, I will have a decision..."

He was about as gentle the second time as he'd been in the beginning. Twinges of pain followed every close rut of his hips; their flesh rubbing slickly against each other. But it felt good, maybe even beautiful despite the rough touch of his hands and lips. That thunderous, beast-like growl grew loud in her ears. Like a coming storm, his grunts and moans grew louder and his fingers more ravenous.

Soon he had her bottom in both hands; her hips lifted like she were weightless. Her shoulders scratched along the furs and her breasts bounced enough to burn as his hips slapped between her legs. His tongue laved at her nipples, cooling the heat there but not below. Deep inside a fire burned, and she only realized she was falling off that peak again seconds before he hissed, filling her with a smaller, heated climax. Her orgasm was heavy and long, fading off only after he dropped her hips with a massive breath, gulping in air above her.

"Nirn have me now..." he seemed to chant under his breath. He felt soaked under her reaching hands, trying to pull him down to her side again with weakness in her touch. There was no resistance from him though. He fell beside her like a fallen giant and growled with satisfaction. "Little elf," he said to the open air, "Malacath would not let me say no."

She had hoped that was a yes to her offer, but a drowsy fog had filled her head as sure as his seed had her womb, and sleep took her as soon as her breathing had come in even. She did not dream. Only restful slumber took hold of her, and when she woke in the early morn, with twilight only now brightening the world, she rolled over to find herself alone.

For a moment she was stricken with a hollow feeling as if she were missing a part of her anatomy.

When she rose her muscles screamed at her, but on a rickety table sat a cup of once warm tonic and the broken arrow she knew he'd removed from her thigh. She knelt to the hard-packed ground and stared at the arrow. It was chipped from malachite with the smallest serrations grooved into the glass. Her blood had stained the tight leather, hardened with some sap, that secured the head to the shaft. She took the cup of brew, the arrowhead and eased her sore body along the furs, unabashed of her nakedness. The thick, herb-like tea was bitter but sweetened with honey and it did as the first potions had before. Under the furs, unsure of where her Orsimer was, or if he'd left her, she twirled the arrowhead before her with a slight amount of wonder. It wasn't the first, nor would it be the last arrow she'd take, but something about this one made her smile. Even if he left her, she would have this to remind him by.

"Not something to play with, little elf."

She gazed over to see him staring at her from the fire; a string of two rabbits over his shoulder and a branch of sweet looking berries. If her face betrayed her relief she didn't care. When she smiled he seemed to do the same, though his lips stretched along his tusks in a manner she'd never seen before.

"Think I would leave you naked and wounded?" he mocked, "Typical elf."

"I wouldn't know what to expect from a brute like you," she said with a tight little smile as a hearth in her chest brewed when he gave her a returned look of enjoyment.

"Careful. I can take you like a brute if you tempt like that," his eyes gestured to the exposed sight of one breast, though she felt her cheeks swallow up a good amount of heat, she did not cover herself as she would have normally. His teasing air was refreshing and disbursed most of her anxiety.

"Have you an answer for me?" she asked with a low voice, staying still under the furs with the arrow still perched between two fingers. He didn't look over at her, instead, she watched him lay one plump rabbit on a tree stump before laying into it with a sharpened knife. One look was spared at her before he skinned the meal with one strong rip of its hind fur. 

The sight was oddly serene and when he paused she saw him staring over at her with a serious expression.

"You think me as capable as a Companion? - I am not," he declared with a soft growl in his words, "but I will follow you. Only a fool would not."

She glanced for the second time at the great sword laid against a rocky wall; hanging moss framing it's well-worn steel. He was being modest, or her memory of him cleaving a man in two with the blade was false.

"I have no doubt you will be as dangerous as those soldiers had the misfortune of knowing."

He paused, but ultimately the compliment was brushed off with a sour grunt as he flayed the rabbits open to cook over the licking flames. He salted them as she reached for her smalls near her pallet. He must have placed them there the other day, though she had no used for them then. A ruddy tinge graced her cheeks at the memories of the other night. 

That distinct ache between her thighs was more pleasant than she had ever remembered. 

With no amount of ease, she covered her breasts and tied the strings at her hips.

When she turned to look at him he was staring with the now-familiar emotion of hunger, but he didn't come to her when she chose to lie down again in a silent invitation. Instead, he pets the mutt at his side and gave a brisk exhale much like a Dwemer machine released steam.

"My Ma named me Baghal. It means bastard," he spoke suddenly, turning the rabbit's to sear brown on their backs. She swallowed a growing lump in her throat down to her belly.

He gave her a one-eyed glance over his near-naked shoulder – a distant look of self-disgust was held in that one eye, and without thinking of being careful to bend her leg properly, she rose to sit beside him. He shifted as if to open up his side to her, but paused.

"Then we have a misgiving in common, Baghal," she smiled small as she eased against his heat, feeling how perfectly he accepted her curved side before he even pulled her in with one heavy arm. "I prefer your name for me, though… my birth name was Nemluv'ne… it means a babe."

The side of his mouth seemed to lift wryly as if the two of them were part of a tale meant to amuse.

"You 'are' simply a babe," he said with mock insult, looking away from the cooking meal as he ducked to nuzzled his nose along her messy hair, inhaling deeply. She sighed as he took her arm in his other hand, pulling her flush against his chest with that rolling thunder of a growl.

Recovering now would be all the sweeter if this was how they'd pass the time. And knowing he'd follow her when she left just gave her more reason to slide, with an impatient moan, into his lap for more of his burning caresses. They would make an unstoppable duo when her time came to prove all those counting on her that they had placed their faith in her wisely. Until then, she could simply enjoy this moment. And enjoy she did.

**Author's Note:**

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